Guarding the Princess - By Loreth Anne White Page 0,93
spiraled as he pushed up the hem of her dress and slid his hands up the insides of her thighs. She couldn’t even think of words to answer him with. His hands went higher, fingers hooking into her G-string as she stared at the photo of her naked self, thinking of how she’d caught him in his own state of arousal. She didn’t feel affronted by the photo—it speared heat into her belly, made her breasts ache. She lifted herself slightly as he rolled her G-string down her thighs, and a soft sigh escaped her, her eyelids fluttering low as he drew her right to the edge of the bed and opened her legs wide.
She felt his tongue, teasing, warm, slick, the rough stubble of his jaw rubbing against the sensitive skin on her inner thighs. Dalilah couldn’t breathe. She arched her head back, widening her thighs, giving him more access. She felt his tongue entering her. Dalilah groaned, her entire body going white-hot as outside the birds screamed, jockeying in a tree for best position for the night.
He went in deeper, and her pulse started to race so fast she thought she might faint. He grated her with his teeth until pleasure built so raw and wild in her chest she thought she’d burst, scream. Her hands fisted in the sheets, head going back as she grew wetter, aching, desperate for him.
Suddenly he stopped, yanked off his shirt and dropped his pants—no underwear, his arousal evident, powerful. Perspiration glistened over his muscular body.
He lifted her dress over her head and gave a soft inhalation as he saw she wore no bra.
Gently he eased her back onto the bed, his tongue, wet, teasing slowly up her abdomen, circling the emerald jewel in her belly button. She arched her pelvis, clawing the covers, desperate to have him inside. Now.
But he was taking his sweet time, torturing her, making it last. Sweat broke out over her body, desperation growing unbearable. She reached down, cupped him between the legs, massaged the hot, hard, quivering length of him, writhing her hips up to him with a need and instinct as old as time.
He grabbed her good wrist suddenly, held her arm up over her head, pressing her into the bed with his body as he kneed her thighs open wide. Her breathing was fast, breasts rising and falling, eyelids heavy, mouth open—all she wanted was him, in her, all of him. She was going to implode.
He entered her with just the smooth tip of his erection. Dalilah went dead still, blood pounding loud in her ears. He pushed slowly deeper, then pulled out. Then again, this time going even deeper. She arched her spine, trying to get more of him, but he pulled out again, and then suddenly reentered with a sharp, hard, long thrust. She gasped, her world spiraling into shades of scarlet and black as a sweet, sharp pain seared up through her abdomen and caught her in the throat. Tears flowed from her eyes.
He stopped, a look of concern suddenly in his features. But she shook her head, pulling his body against hers, wrapping her legs around him, holding him in tight. He held still for a while longer, and she could feel him, quivering and hot inside her as her body accommodated the size and delicious feel of him. Then Dalilah began to rock her hips, stroking herself against him, breathing light, fast, faster. She moved harder. Then suddenly she stilled, long fingernails digging into his back, and she shattered around him with a cry, her body besieged by rolling contractions as her muscles spasmed around the length of him.
Brandt’s control cracked. He grasped her hips, yanking her against him as he thrust hard, deep, fast. And almost instantly he released, the pure pleasure, the pain of restraint too much to hold on to. Tears of release filled his eyes as a feeling of indescribable warmth rolled through his body. He gathered Dalilah into his arms, and they lay there like that, in the velvet dusk, still joined as they listened to the bush readying for the night, feeling the warm African air on their hot, damp skin. He stroked her hair back off her brow and loved the smell of her, the sensation of her thick curls against his cheek.
“I believe I’m the luckiest man alive right now,” he whispered against her skin
They heard the hyenas, a rising whoop whooooop whooping call as they started on their night hunt.